


The Devil Went Down of Georgia (excerpt)

by Demmora



Series: Shirtless Satan In A Kilt [1]
Category: Joy Demorra
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Joy Demorra - Freeform, Oral Sex, Shirtless Satan In a Kilt, The Devil Went Down on Georgia, how does tumblr keep..., mild praise kink? I guess?, not yet out, you know what never mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demmora/pseuds/Demmora
Summary: This is an excerpt form another book series tumblr tricked me into writing. It's part of the Scottish RomCom series, Shirtless Satan In A Kilt and focuses on the two main characters from the first book (The Devil's Sporran- first draft half finished) Donnie McLaughlan and Georgia Taliaferro (formerly known as "Kate" in the tumblr prompts) Tumblr saw my folder name "The Devil Went Down On Georgia" and asked for an excerpt, well I finally got round to posting it. This is raw and unedited, it hasn't even really been proofread so please excuse any mistakes, it's just a thought I have about how things may or may not go, but well, you said you wanted something a little rough ;)





	The Devil Went Down of Georgia (excerpt)

Georgia spies him across the dance floor, a pretty blonde woman held briefly on his arm as the dizzying reel continues and partners swap again. She hadn't been able to see him in the ceremony and she'd been too busy keeping Magda and Ellie entertained during dinner to look for him. But he's in his element here, red hair swept back from his face as he stamps and claps in time to the music, grinning broadly—just as dashingly resplendent in his full regalia as she remembers.

As though sensing her gaze he looks up, grey eyes startlingly bright in the low light as they fix on her, mouth crooking up. She doesn't have time to dwell on it however, as another pair of hands reach for her and she's spun to face the other way, then again and again until they've changed sets two more times and the music is coming to an end and they're allowed a brief moment to clap and breath before the Caller shouts "Hooligans Jig!" to a resounding cheer and suddenly he's  _there_ , scooping her up as the music starts up again and whisks the dancers back into a frenzy.

"Jesus, where did you come from?" Georgia breathes, only slightly feigning her alarm. The last she'd seen him he'd been halfway across the dance floor.

"Got to be quick Gee," he grins, spinning her out under his arm and passing her briefly to another partner before she's back in the crook of his arm and she experiences a brief moment of weightlessness as he spins so quickly her feet leave the ground. "Especially if you want to best girl in the room."

"Oh?" She'd been managing the footwork fine all night, but now he's finally near her knees have turned to jelly and she's struggling to keep up. Not that it matters, the Hooligans Jig is more for the love of chaos than anything else, and several other couples have already started jumping up and down as they twist and spin, as though they're at a rave rather than a wedding in the Scottish highlands. 

"Aye, but seen as how the bride's taken, I'll settle for you."

It's said with the faux seriousness she's come to expect from the Scottish when they're jabbing and poking for fun, and she rolls her eyes. "I see you haven't changed much."

"Would you want me to?" It's asked with such an open and honest curiosity that the question takes her by surprise and Georgia falters mid turn, allowing herself to be scooped back into the rhythm of the reel by his warm steady hands around her waist and an amused grunt. "I see you still cannae dance."

That snaps reality back into place and Georgia finds herself shaking her head ruefully, elbowing him in the ribs when his hand strays to her hip. "Only with you."

"Oh aye?"  He laughs, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and down her spine as he spins her back to face him, a little too quickly, a little too rough. "Do tell."

When she looks up at him from under her lashes she's glad to see the faint tinge of color rising on his neck, the ragged hitch in his breathing that she's pretty certain isn't from the exertion of the dance.

The reel switches again, descending into chaos as couples try to stay upright, laughing and shrieking as the ceilidh band speeds up again. Beside them a couple spins out of control and they're forced to move sideways or be dragged under. On instinct she reaches for him, hooking her arms around his neck and trusting in the strength of those broad shoulders to keep her upright. She tries to quash the little funny flutter of something hot and strange in her chest when she realizes he was already reaching to lift her out of the way.

"All right?" he asks, unnecessarily careful as he sets her back on her bare feet. She doesn't like the way it makes her feel when he0  reaches up to brush a strand of hair back from her face with the utmost tenderness...she doesn't like the way he's looking at her, like there's something more between them than shared secrets and illicit stolen moments. 

Needing to pull the moment back into something more familiar, she cocks her head to the side, dragging her eyes up the length of him. "Is it still true what they say about what a Scotsman wears under his kilt?"

For a moment he seems genuinely surprised by the question, blinking before his grin returns, sly and knowing. "And if it is, Gee," he asks, spinning her under his arm before reeling her back in, holding her close, "what's it to you?"

Georgia smiles, tilting up into the kiss his lips are already parting for and turning her head away at the last moment to mouth hungrily at the spot just below his ear which she hopes still makes him go boneless. "Neither am I."

The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a groan and sends a flash of heat curling through her gut as he sways a little helplessly into her.

"You cannae say things like," he says, leaning back to sweep darkened eyes over her upturned face.  

"Just did." She replies, turning her head coyly to the side, "what are you going to do about it?"

 

It should be funny, the speed at which they extract themselves from the dance floor, Donnie's fingers a firm, guiding pressure on her lower back as they dodge and weave between the other dancers. But instead there's just a kind of urgent tension building between them, and Georgia briefly wonders that anyone doesn't notice the heat that must surely be radiating off of them with every glancing brush of their bodies. But then she supposes that's the joy of a ceilidh—who is going to care or notice if your face is red and your hands and knees are shaking?

They push out the double doors of the main hall together, and she's just about to turn and lead him up the stairs towards the guest suites when he moves past her, pulling her forward by her fingertips and through another set of doors until they are outside in the cloister, the courtyard open to the cold night stars.

"What are you doing?" she giggles, trying to pull him back. "I have a room at the top of the stairs."

"Fuck the stairs," Donnie growls, pulling her into him, hands suddenly everywhere as he backs her up against the stone wall, claiming her lips in a searing open mouthed kiss. It's so close to the first time they'd fucked at Kate's wedding, so raw and full of need that Georgia can't help but moan, arching into him and trying to pull him closer as the muted sounds of laughter and music dull in her ears until all she can hear is the pounding of her own heartbeat and the ragged sound of their breathing as they start to writhe together.

Georgia had lost count of how many times she's pleasured herself to that memory, wishing it was his hands on her instead of her own—or even sometimes replacing the person she was with.

She's left breathless and bereft for a moment when he draws back, but it's only for a moment as he shifts his sporran out of the way, pushing flush up against her again and slotting a knee between her thighs and pressing against the throbbing ache there as his mouth descends upon her neck, kissing and sucking down to her exposed collarbone.

"Christ, I've missed you."

The breathless admission takes her by surprise, a fervent blasphemous prayer as he sucks hungrily at the tender flesh of her throat, hands roving over her as though he can't get enough of her and is trying to touch all of her at once.

"I can tell," she murmurs, wriggling against him and giggling at the groan it pulls from him, his cock a warm, hardening pressure against her thigh through the heavy wool of his kilt. 

She yelps a second later when he hoists her up, spinning her around. "Donnie!"

"Shhh, shhh," he soothes, making sure she's seated on the balustrade he's perched her on. She shivers at being manhandled so, but he mistakes it and pulls off his blazer, draping it around her bare shoulders. "I've got you."

 _Got me for what,_ is on the tip of her tongue before he moves, and she's unable to stifle the squeal when he drops to his knees between her thighs and pulls her legs over his shoulders, vanishing beneath her skirts. She hears him groan, a deep, injured sound when he realizes she'd been telling the truth, her smugness shattered with a another yelp when a rough finger slides along the length of her slick slit, light and teasing as he kisses up the inside of her legs, beard scratching her thighs. 

"Donnie," she tries, pulling her skirt up so she can see his head and laughing when he pulls it back over so she's forced to cling to his silk draped shoulders. "Donnie, you can't be serio— _oh!_ "

She can feel him laughing, a deep delightful rumble against her folds as he finally mouths over her, the flat of his tongue hot and slick as he teases her open. It's instinct to press into him, to pull him in tighter, and from the way he moans and squeezes her thighs, lifting her higher, he doesn't object.

"God you taste good," he groans, voice thick and muffled as he shifts his hold, fingers splaying her open to better tease the sensitive nub at the top with his tongue while skillful fingers dip and tease at her opening, making her squirm and writhe against him. When he draws back it's all she can do not to swear. "I've been dying for want of you."

"Oh?" it comes out high and hitched, closer to a whine, hips twitching as another sweep of his tongue sends sparks up her spine, dazzling her senses and she's forced to grip the nearby pillar for fear of falling backwards into the rosebushes even though she knows Donnie won't let her fall. Not yet anyway.

"Dying, dreaming and wanting," he says, pulling back again just enough to slide a finger into her wet warmth, causing her to arch with a soft cry as he begins stroking against her walls, finding the sweet spot she can never reach on her own.  She can feel her orgasm coiling in her stomach, twisting into pleasant knots that build and tighten with every brush of his tongue against her swollen clit. It's been over a year since they'd last been together, but he works her with a knowing familiarity that has her teetering on the edge in minutes—as though he remembers every secret part of her and the quickest way to bring her undone with an expert flick of his tongue. 

He knows it too, she can feel him smiling against her when she moans, hot eager mouth pressed against her clit and gently sucking as another finger slides in to join the first and she's unable to stifle the cry that escapes her, not caring if anyone hears.

"Smug," she gasps out, arching with a shudder as he laughs against her again, drawing the sound out into a whimper as he crooks his fingers at  _just the_   _right angle_ and pleasure spikes through her core in a dizzying wave. " _Donnie!_ "

He pulls back then, emerging out from under her skirts to look up at her with an open hunger burning in his eyes as he circles his thumb over her clitoris, watching her jerk and shudder under his touch.

"That's it," he murmurs the deep burr of his accent vibrating through her with every word, "come on darling, that's it, that's a good girl, are you going to come for me?"

Georgia's not sure what sound she makes, but he stills when she reaches out to grip his wrist, holding him still as she ruts against his fingers, chasing her orgasm with wanton abandon. 

"God you're beautiful like this."

She arches with a cry more like a whimpering keen as her orgasm crashes over her leaving her breathless and shaking in its wake. She lets out another pitiful sound as the aftershocks ripple through her, vaguely aware that Donnie is making sweet soothing sounds as she comes down. 

When she can finally focus on him again she's surprised to find he's not grinning—like the self satisfied cat that caught the canary—and is instead watching her with a tender kind of awe, still kneeling between her legs. Which is somehow hilarious and causes her to laugh hazily because she must be a mess. She feels clammy in the cold night air, hair sticking to her forehead, and there's smudges of red all over his face that tells her what kind of state her lipstick must be in. But he doesn't seem to care so she does the only thing she can think of, lowering her legs from around his shoulders and leaning over until she's able to pull him into an open mouthed kiss, tasting herself on his lips. When they finally part there's a pleasant heat thrumming in her veins again, body willing and ready for more.

"Still got that room upstairs," she purrs, dragging her nails through his mist curled hair and watching him shudder into the touch. "Though you may have to carry me," she chuckles, "I don't think my legs are working."

"That," Donnie grins wolfishly, hitching her legs around his waist as her hoists her effortlessly up with him, "can be arranged."


End file.
